


All About James

by Naina



Category: The Grand Tour (TV) RPF, Top Gear (UK) RPF
Genre: Episode Related, Ficlet Collection, Friendship, Gen, Holidays, M/M, Mild slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-03
Updated: 2017-11-30
Packaged: 2019-01-28 22:12:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 8,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12616692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naina/pseuds/Naina
Summary: My attempt at National Novel Writing Month 2017, with some modifications. There was no goal in terms of word count, just that I write every day. Each piece discusses, involves, or centers around that lovely English gentleman, James May. Some are gen, others pre- or mild slash. Yes, that would be RPS with James and his colleague, Richard Hammond. As the overall rating suggests, there's nothing more explicit than a simple kiss or wandering thought, but chapters with slashy content are marked with an asterisk (*) after their name.This work is now complete (YAY!!!), but comments or constructive criticism are always welcome.





	1. Day 1: Halloween

(Set in 2008)

“Oh my God!” Jeremy’s laughter grabbed their attention from Ebay’s latest offerings. “Boys, you’ve got to see this!”

Richard glances over at him, then back at James, eyebrows rising as their colleague releases a stream of giggles. Standing behind Jeremy at his desk, they see a video paused on YouTube.

“Is this something safe to air before the watershed?” James asks, “or should we brace for reams of complaints?”

“No, no, nothing like that. Brian sent it on from his cousin or...someone in America. It’s Halloween, look!” Jeremy clicks ‘play’, and the muddled dark mess resolves itself into three figures bounding around a lit-up driveway.

“Tom and two of his friends decided they wanted to be cars this year,” a woman’s voice tells them. “So we made some cardboard ones for them to wear. And then Elliot, in his wisdom, reminded us what his cousin Brian does for the BBC.” The camera focuses on one of the boys, who is wearing a plaid shirt and curly wig. “Tommy, who is your costume supposed to be?”

The kid hoists his blue-painted car into view and turns to show the number-plate, which reads CAPN SLOW. One of the other boys runs past, shouting “Come on, Slow! Powerrrr!”

“You’ve probably guessed that Owen is Jeremy,” the lady says. “And Tommy’s James. Which makes Arjun Richard.”

Whatever she says next is drowned out by one of James’s trademark donkey-bray laughs. “Is that - it’s the stupid Merc you took to Spain last year, Jez!”

“What? Which one?”

Richard hoots. “‘Which one’, he asks. Does missing an apple on the apex ring any bells?”


	2. Day 2: Something sweet *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set during the filming of Top Gear 20x03, in Puerto Banús. Definitely slashy.

It takes a few white lies and a bit of bluster, but they manage to sneak away once the cars are taken care of, dinner has been had, and they've spent some time greeting fans. It's cooled off by then, but plenty of vendors are out, eager to capitalize on tourists craving something light and sweet. They meander for a while, enjoying an approximation of privacy, eventually getting their own treats; James a cone of stracciatella Gelato, and Richard a scoop of Limoncello sorbetto.

They savor their treats slowly, making them last all the way back to the hotel. In their room, they exchange little tastes. First from from cone and cup, then lips and tongues.


	3. Day 3: Movie Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I saw the movie named in this chapter tonight. It was fantastic. I can't stop thinking about it, hence the very short and silly entry.

“Good news, boys! We’ve got the evening off!”

“What could possibly be good about that? We’re stuck in southern New Jersey in the off-season, and it’s pouring.”

“South Jersey, Hammond. That’s how they say it. Or ‘down the shore’.”

“God, you’re such a pedant.”

“Shut up, both of you. The cinemas are open, we’ll go see a movie.”

“Sounds alright, I guess. May?”

“Thor: Ragnarok would be my pick. Lots of fights, Cate Blanchett in a catsuit, and the Hulk is back.”

“Agreed.”

“Yep, that settles it.”


	4. Day 4: Baggage Claim *

It was the jet lag. It had to be. Or maybe squinting against the sun so much had hurt his eyes, and he physically couldn’t tell the difference. That wind blasting over the dunes had been awfully dry, too. Hence his digging through his luggage for the bottle of moisturizing eye drops.

Which he couldn’t find, because this wasn’t his valise. It was James’s.

“Right.” Well, at least he hadn’t actually gotten in the shower yet, or put on any of the clothes he’d unpacked. Back into the valise went the toiletry bag, the tightly rolled t-shirts, spare jeans, and pairs of socks. He had only just opened the texting app on his phone when there was a rap on the door.

“Rich? It’s May.”

Honestly, if he’d ever given thought to this sort of thing happening (and he was pretty sure he hadn’t), Richard was certain his reaction would be: open the door, trade cases with James, laugh it off, shut the door, and return to his original task of finding the eye drops. 

He opened the door, James stepped into the hotel room, and the door shut behind him. Richard stared, a pair of May’s pants in one hand while the other held a towel around his waist.

There had been moments, nearly all in the somewhat distant past, when something about James would catch his eye and make him think _‘christ, he isn’t bad-looking, is he?’_ They were often triggered by clothing: jeans in a flattering style, a particularly cozy jumper or well-chosen leather jacket. Tonight, it was a bathrobe, stark white against windburned cheeks and flyaway hair.

(to be continued)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My dear cheerleader, slash_girl, showed me a picture of James and Richard holding very similar suitcases. Pre-slashy thoughts.


	5. Day 5: Baggage Claim continued *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pre-slashy thoughts.

“You alright, mate?”

Richard gave his head a little shake. “I always figured you for a boxers man. You know, in the pants department?”

“What?” James leaned in and squinted cautiously. “I know we didn’t have a big dinner, but the ale wasn’t too strong. Though, you did down the first pint like it was water.”

“I’m not tipsy!” Richard raised his hand to wave the pants at James, then reconsidered, as that would be something a tipsy person would do. “Here, those are yours. I unpacked your case before I noticed it was the wrong one. Sorry it’s untidy.”

James took the pants and strode to the bed to gather up the repacked valise, hardly taking his eyes off Richard.


	6. Day 6: more Baggage Claim *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slashy thoughts.

There was silence between them for a minute or two. Richard wished he’d thought to grab his own robe before letting him in. James finally closed his case and retreated to the door.

“Look, Rich. If something’s wrong or you need, I dunno, an ear or what have you, that’s fine. I’ll listen. But, ah,” he scrubbed his fingers over the back of his head and made a disgusted face at the amount of sand that drifted to the carpet. “Could it wait until we’ve cleaned up? I’m pretty certain I’ve got a kilo of sand and grit up each nostril, and God knows how much in each ear.”

Yeah, that sounded horrid, and served as a reminder how damn itchy his beard had gotten. “Sure, sure. Here’s hoping we don’t clog up the drains. Actually, why don’t we have breakfast together? It’ll keep till morning.” 

James let himself out and nodded amiably. “Sounds good. Have a good night, mate.”

“‘Night.” He bounced a little on his toes, relieved to be given a reprieve and not have to spit out some garbled version of _‘I think I might fancy you a tiny bit, when you wear certain things and your hair’s mussed and you smile like that.’_


	7. Day 7: Colors *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow-up to my story [Embers](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9198695). Set during filming for Grand Tour 1x12 on the Romantic Road in Germany (April 2016). Mild slash discussed.

Richard takes something from a jacket pocket and holds it between them. Every one of his movements is hesitant, uncertain, far from the cheeky confidence he exudes when they’re working.

“What’s this?” James takes the offering and flips it over to find three leaves, encased in the clear tacky film children use to wrap their schoolbooks. “Oh, are these the ones you had back in the fall?”

“They are, yeah. You, er, remember what I said? Why I liked them?”

He almost laughs at that. “Sure I do. I probably still have the text, if you want me to bring it up.”

Richard grimaces, fingers twisting his rings. “No, that’s quite alright. So, that was only part of the reason I kept them. Like I said then, Mindy and I had taken the dogs to Westonbirt. I said something about liking the color, and…” He’s moved on to fiddling with the Jaguar’s key-bracelet, now. “When she asked me why, it all just sort of fell out.”

“It all? What is ‘it’?”

“That the color reminded me of your hair and you in general, and, God, you’re really going to make me say it, aren’t you?”

Because Hammond is so obviously tense, James carefully keeps his tone free of irritation. He isn’t a dunce, and he thinks of Richard as both friend and colleague, but it’s not entirely clear where this is going. “I’m afraid so.”

“I told her that I sort of fancy you. That it’s always been girls for me, I’ve never found men attractive, and then: you. I don’t know why.”


	8. Day 8: Awake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> James POV of the first time Richard spends the night in my World of Comfort 'verse.

It was quiet. Not the empty, almost indifferent sort of quiet James had woken to the past several weeks (five, he thought, or maybe six, but he tried to keep from counting). This was softer, calmer; soothing. Warmer, too, which brought a sigh of contentment as he burrowed deeper into the duvet.

The toilet flushed. 

James cracked an eye open. Who was here, using his taps? 

The bathroom door opened, and someone emerged, muttering - Richard, he recalled, now. His friend and colleague, who had slept beside him all night without the slightest protest. And who was now nudging him with a sharp little elbow to shove over a bit. He obliged, grunting and grumbling at the intrusion of dawn light and cool air, but scant moments later, all was dark and quiet again. Richard was at his back, a warm reassuring weight coaxing him back towards sleep. He obliged happily.


	9. Day 9: Trivia

“Question three: what make and model car did Jeremy Clarkson drive when racing his colleagues to Monte Carlo?”

“What?!” James and Richard gape at each other while their teammates (and, it seems, everyone around them) crack up at their indignant reaction. They immediately lean in closer to argue in undertones.

“It definitely wasn’t the Veyron.”

“Or the GT-R.”

“I’m certain he never used a BMW. Was there ever a Porsche?”

“We used one against the Post. He wasn’t involved, thank God.”

“I think it was that McLaren Mercedes.”

“You’re thinking of that crazy gull-wing one he had in Virginia - remember the shredded tires he couldn’t get replaced?”

“No, no, this was way before that. It didn’t have those doors. What do you think it was?”

“I’m thinking a Ferrari. I know we were up against one of the V12 monsters at some point, I’m just not sure it was that particular race.”

“Time’s up!”

Both of them jump, and look up to see their teammates rolling their eyes.

“The answer to question three is…a DB9. Jeremy Clarkson won the race to Monte Carlo in an Aston Martin DB9.”

Neither James nor Richard hear the next several questions, having buried their face in their hands in shame (James) or tossed back nearly a full pint in one go (Richard).


	10. Day 10: Constant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was finally able to go back and write something for Day 10. 
> 
> While watching Grand Tour 2x01, I noticed that James was with the people taking Richard to the medevac copter. I'd seen the video posted on DriveTribe with him in hospital, and went from there. Fittingly, this was posted (to Tumblr) on December 10, six months after Richard's crash.

James had been a constant at Richard's side since Hemberg. He’d ridden in the air ambulance with Richard clutching his sleeve for reassurance. He’d acted as Mindy’s proxy at the hospital, providing her husband's medical history and signing whatever was needed. He’d tipped the courier who delivered their bags handsomely, and kipped on a narrow cot tucked in a corner of Hammond’s room without comment. 

Once Richard was discharged, Andy had arranged a flight back to London for them, and a hired car for the final leg of the journey home. James helped Richard into the Mercedes, and drove as fast as he dared - and was comfortable, unwilling to jostle his friend - to Herefordshire.

Between two teenage girls, an exhausted but ebullient Richard, and an untold number of Hammond family pets clamoring for attention, James was quickly overwhelmed. Mindy helped him unload Richard's things from the car, he gave her the medical supplies and instructions, and that was it.

“You're in the best hands, now, so I'm off home, alright?”

“What? No, no mate, not without a hug you’re not!” Richard tried to lunge to his feet from deep within the couch cushions. The girls both protested but helped him sit up, which was enough for him to be able to grab James and hug his mate until he squeaked. 

“Thank you, thank you, seriously James, I can't thank you enough.”

“Don't mention it,” James replied, red-faced. He pointed at all four Hammonds in turn. “I mean it. None of you goes on national telly and says a word about this. Understood?”

There was a chorus of yes's from Richard and the girls, while Mindy gave him a cheeky salute and “aye-aye, Captain.”

“Nutters, the lot of you,” James sighed. He still paused to give her a brief hug on his way out the door, though.


	11. Day 11: Formalities *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on a real picture of James wearing the outfit described. It looks like he's going to or is in a wedding, but the details here are made up. Slashy.

“Have I got this done up right?” James frowned at his reflection, nose wrinkling. He didn’t dare tug at the cravat, having been warned enough times about the fragility of the silk.

“I think so.” Richard padded over in sock feet, holding out his tablet, on which a YouTube video was paused. “It looks just like his.”

A comparison was made, and when James was satisfied with the result, he handed the tablet back. “I’m still not thrilled with the color.”

“Well, after the ceremony, you’ll be free to bring that up with your new sister-in-law.” Richard picked up his own tie, happy to be donning his own normal suit as a guest. James, on the other hand, would be sporting a formal morning coat - tails and all - and cravat as groomsman for his brother. It wasn’t too rare to see James in a tuxedo, with Top Gear’s occasional award nominations, but this was something else, and Richard was delighted for the opportunity. He finished with his tie and looked up to check on his partner.

James was back at the mirror, doing up the buttons on his waistcoat, and Christ, that was a good look on him. Although he wasn’t a slim man, the tailoring smoothed over his beer belly, making it less obvious and doing wonders for his posture.

“Can I request that you wear a waistcoat more often?”

“You can,” James said. “Doesn’t mean I’ll honor it, though.”

“That’s fair.” Richard eyed the morning coat on its hanger. “I know you’ll get the bouttonniere when you go to Peter’s room, but can I see you with the coat on?” When James silently raised an eyebrow, he added, “Please? You don’t want me to make an arse of myself in front of the whole wedding party, do you?”

“Yes, alright.” It was obvious James was rolling his eyes as he fetched the coat and slipped it on, fastening the single button.

“God, you look a treat.” He wasn’t playing around; James looked wonderful, from his neatly trimmed and styled hair to his perfectly polished shoes.

“I look, Richard, like a toff.” James fussed with the coat hem.

Richard covered his hand with his own, and leaned up for a quick kiss. “You’re no toff, May. You’re my weird berk from Bristol.”


	12. Day 12: Sporting *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, a warning: there are few things I dislike more than American football. I have no idea if the TG/GT gents share my opinion, but they’re voicing it anyway. I’m more of a hockey fan. And this is set in Seattle because that’s where Amazon’s HQ is. Just a hint of slash.

“May.”

James looked up from his pint of barely-passable ale. “Hmm?”

“Do you think this is a test?” Clarkson actually looked nervous as he glanced around Amazon’s box suite.

“What, force us to attend a football ma- game - and see how we react?” James swallowed another mouthful of ale, thankful it wasn’t that Budweiser swill served in the rest of the stadium. “Well, if they are, fair enough.”

Jeremy was silent for a whole eleven seconds. “But this is so boring!”

“I know.”

“Why do they keep stopping? Why must the referees make so many calls?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know, and I’m going to rescue Hammond, it looks like he’s going to cry.” James left Jeremy whinging to himself on the couch and made his way to the seats at the front of the box, where a very unhappy-looking Richard was at the mercy of one of Amazon’s many executives. James only knew that this was not Jeff Bezos, so pissing the man off a tiny bit was probably acceptable.

“Hammond! There you are. Jezza was almost ready to send out a search party.” He flashed the exec a pleasant smile and steered his colleague away with an arm around Richard’s shoulders. They went straight to the bar to procure some stiff drinks, then rejoined Jeremy on the enormous couch.

“That was absolutely horrible,” Richard muttered after a fortifying sip of Scotch. “Why do people always assume I’m interested in sport?”

“Because you’re the only one of us who is in any way athletic,” Jeremy answered. “And you’re a secret American.”

“I am not!”

“You are, and I need another G&T.”

James chuckled, pleased to be left alone with Richard. “We should’ve done this in the summer, you know.”

Richard’s knee knocked against his and stayed there. “Why’s that?”

“Because it’s baseball season, and that is actually somewhat interesting to watch. Although hockey’s not bad, either.”


	13. Day 13: Comfortable *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set in Barbados during filming for Grand Tour 1x10: Dumb Fight at the O.K. Coral (late February, 2016). Not strictly part of the World of Comfort 'verse, but it could fit. Discussion of a same-sex, non-sexual romantic relationship.

“I cannot believe you honestly find that man attractive.”

The words didn’t register for long seconds, until Richard finished the paragraph he’d been reading and looked up. “What?”

Jeremy tipped his head toward the water, where their colleague and perhaps a dozen other people were wading or swimming. “Him. You actually find that appealing?”

It had to be said that James did look fairly ridiculous, but so did most people when they were hip-deep in the ocean, wearing a snorkeling mask. Naturally, James chose that moment to turn and splash his way out of the water, pale skinny legs becoming more apparent with each stride. His hair was half plastered to his skull, but damn if he didn’t look happy.

“Yes,” Richard said.

“But why?”

Richard marked the page in his book, set it aside, and leaned over to dig around in Jeremy’s beach bag.

“What are you doing?”

Jeremy’s iPhone in hand, he sat up, taking off his sunglasses for maximum glower effect. “One more comment, and I’m phoning Francie to ask her the exact same questions.”

“But-“

“We are not in a sexual relationship. I know that’s something beyond your comprehension, but too bad. Drop it.”

“I’m just saying, compared to Mindy-”

Richard stood, selecting and pressing the contact for ‘Francie Clarkson’ without pausing. To his delight, and Jeremy’s horror, she answered.

“Hello Francie, it’s Richard. How are you? Yes, it’s delightful here, apart from your husband.”

As he’d figured, that was all Jeremy could take before leaping up and snatching the phone away. “Darling! So sorry he bothered you, I - What? No, of course -”

Richard dropped back down onto his lounger, retrieved his sunglasses and returned to where he’d left off in his book. When James rocked up some time later, dripping, slightly sunburnt and beaming, he just handed him a towel and wondered how anyone could find happiness unattractive.


	14. Day 14: Thirteen hours in the life of Richard Hammond

9:13 am: Nibbling cautiously on an egg and cheese toast and cursing their cavernous, echoey office space.

7:55 am: Willing himself not to be sick whilst in the guest shower.

7:30 am: Waking to the sound of James in the loo, rueing the day someone decided to make alcohol from potatoes.

9:47 pm: Collapsing face first onto James’s guest bed, vaguely aware that James himself has crashed out beside him.

9:22 pm: In the Uber, trying to describe which Lego kit they should have used, only he can’t quite do better than “it’s a car.”

9:01 pm: Deciding that James is right; there’s only about two shots left in the bottle, and pouring it out would just be a waste. He takes a swallow and passes it over. In the background, the skinny wretch called Xander is ordering them an Uber.

8:36 pm: Calling an end to the challenge, as he’s gotten further on his kit than James has, and neither of them have fallen over. Yet.


	15. Day 15: Trauma

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was rewatching the Top Gear Middle East special and wondered what might have happened if James’s head injury had been more serious. I did some research on head injuries and what happens if you’re injured overseas, but really this is all made up. Where would they be medevacked to from the middle of Syria in late 2010? Would they go to a British Army medical base? There’s only so much Googling I’m going to do for a short, off-the-cuff piece of real person fanfiction, let’s be honest.

“Go! Go go go, go!”

Occupied as he is with steering the Fiat, and shrouded as he is with the fabric draping his ‘tent’, Richard doesn’t see or hear James fall. He does, however, hear the guys shouting to stop, and does, killing the engine. One of Jeremy’s tires must have come off, or something drastic. He gets out of the car, walks around, and sees James laid out on the rocks and sand.

“Oh, Jesus,” he breathes, and legs it over. One of the Chrises is already kneeling behind James’s head, a sound guy digs through the medical pack and hands over a thick packet of gauze. Time sort of skips: he hears that James feels sick; unwinds his headscarf and gives it to Jeremy for shade; has a hand on James’s back, helping him sit up. He glances back and almost feels sick himself; along with the bandana and goggles May had been wearing, there’s a sizeable pool of blood.

“Shit, there’s some coming from his ears, too. We need to get him to the closest city,” Chris is saying to Alex, who relays it over the radios.

His hand still on May’s shoulder, Richard stares across at Jeremy and mouths ‘what?’

Jeremy looks down at their colleague, blanches, and meets Richard’s eyes. ‘Blood out his ears.’

It’s pretty obvious James has a concussion, but bleeding from the ears must be a symptom of something more dire, given how quickly the crew carefully bundle May into one of their cars and take off toward Palmyra.

Hauling an MX-5 over the lip of a rocky desert slope feels utterly pointless and hopeless, now, but it has to be done, and they need a distraction. Andy takes over in the Z3. They’ve made progress and are a few kilometers from reaching the road when the radios bring news: Chris and the guys with James have made it to the local hospital, and he’s being seen to. However, he passed out in the car, didn’t come around, and Chris is almost certain there’s a skull fracture.


	16. Day 16: Shades

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follows [Colors](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12616692/chapters/28867197).

Sometimes, it was easy to forget that they were three men with very different temperaments. That while they are friends, real spats could and did happen in addition to what’s scripted. James in particular had a long, slow burning fuse, and this morning it seemed that Richard had somehow provided a spark.

Jeremy and Andy had been enjoying a post-breakfast cigarette and going over the day’s route when Hammond and May appeared, walking along the hotel driveway. There was too much of a breeze to hear what was being said, but from Richard’s anxious expression and the hunch in James’s shoulders, it wasn’t positive. Unrepentantly nosy, Jeremy followed them, keeping a careful distance, and was rewarded with snippets of his colleagues’ conversation.

“–how to explain—you’d want to know–“

“—-unfair—-do with—-. What about—-”

“—sorry if—didn’t—”

The hissing of his name by an annoyed producer called an ending to his eavesdropping.

The mood between the two of them fluctuated all day, ranging from their everyday banter to faint sadness through to biting criticism.


	17. Day 17: Plans *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had the gents from [United](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9634814/chapters/21765902) in mind for this one. Slashy.

One morning in late August, Richard is woken by the alarm going off at 6. Since he knows he doesn’t need to get up yet, he dozes off, rousing again when James comes back from the shower to dress.

“Wha’s goin’ on? Where you off to?”

“The airfield. We’re wrapping up the Christmas special today.”

“Mm. You’ll be home tonight?”

“Barring unforeseen mishaps, yes.” James leans down and kisses him. Richard tries to prolong it, blinking his doe-eyes at James when they part.

“Such a brat, Hammond.”

He gives James his sauciest wink and grin. “Well, yes. But I’m your brat.”

Another quick kiss is stolen before James can stand up. This earns him a wry smile and gentle shove into their pillows.

“Go back to sleep. I’ll text you later.”


	18. Day 18: Steamed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References James's broken arm while filming Grand Tour 1x11 in France (December, 2015). Presumes Hammond and May flew to France for filming together (they didn't). Originally thought up as a response to slash_girl using "the broccoli test" as a prompt.

Text from JM to RH: Since you’re already driving me in the morning, why don’t you just stay the night?

Text from RH to JM: Not a bad idea. Have any decent beer on hand?

Text from JM to RH: I wouldn’t have drunk anything you bought so probably. No food though.

Text from RH to JM: I see, you just want an errand-boy.

Text from JM to RH: Oh good, you’re less of an idiot than you look.

Hammond arrives with a takeaway roasted chicken and some vegetables, but no alcohol.

“I’m not sure which is more perplexing,” James says, watching his colleague chop up some potatoes and arrange the chunks in a small pan. “The thought of you cooking dinner, or the fact that you failed to bring me any alcohol. I thought we knew each other, Richard.”

“Knowing you is exactly why I didn’t get you some drinks,” Hammond replies easily. He pauses to duck into the pantry for a bottle of oil and a jar of kosher salt before continuing. “You’re on pain pills for the wrist, and the last time you drank on pain pills, you were outright mean. You won’t remember, but anyone unlucky enough to be sitting near us on the flight out of Argentina certainly would.”

While the broccoli steams and the potatoes bake, Richard quarters the chicken and has James set the table. May can’t hide his astonishment when the veggies turn out to be delicious. “I honestly believed you had zero interest in proper cooking, Hammond.”

“I only cook if I’m in the mood for it, at home,” Richard says, “I do like the idea of growing our own vegetables, the whole farm-to-table thing. Clarkson’s already a food bore, so I prefer that he think all I can do is heat up a tin of beans.”

“He’ll never hear otherwise from me.”


	19. Day 19: Boston

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From the next story (not yet finished) in the World of Comfort 'verse.

His home for the next year is a furnished two-bedroom flat (with balcony) on the fifth floor of an early 20th century apartment building. He doesn’t remember the cross streets or what the neighborhood is called, but it’s a quiet mix of art gallery type shops and residential, with most of the residents being his age. While several universities are within spitting distance, this is not, he’s been assured, where students live.

The flat itself is lovely; built-in shelving, oak floors, double-paned windows for insulation, a full bathtub in his ensuite. There’s room on the balcony for potted plants, a cafe table and chairs, or, if he wants to be as creative as a few of his neighbors (and the lease allows it), he can put up a frame and screens to make a mini-catio for Dixie.

Not having to buy or ship any furniture is an enormous relief; his half-dozen boxes are full of personal items, books, work material etc, and three large duffels hold clothing. He’ll take the next few days to rearrange the flat’s contents to his liking. Right now, James stands in the doorway of his new bedroom, looks at the handsome mahogany bed he’s just made up, and misses Richard fiercely.

Only four days until his mum brings Dixie over from London.


	20. Day 20: Lighter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Richard is blatantly me. There’s a picture from rehearsal for Top Gear 10x06, and in it James is wearing a brown zip-up sweater and camouflage cargo pants. I can’t tell you how much I love that. And then in the filmed news segment of that episode, his thighs keep twitching. As Richard says, it’s very distracting.

“You were staring again.”

When Jeremy sounded that gleeful, Richard figured he was in for some ragging, and dug a half-full packet of cigarettes from his jacket pocket. “Wait, let me light up first,” he said, and held up a finger until he’d had his first drag. “Right, go on then.”

“It’s been twice already, and we’ve only just finished the news!” Jeremy exclaimed. He was still clutching the mug of tea (with some DayNurse added in, probably), and sounded disturbingly chipper despite the congestion. “What’s brought that on?”

Five years of working together had given Richard a smidge of self-restraint when it came to telling his colleague anything embarrassing. “Did you notice his trousers in rehearsal?” Clearly, the self-restraint hadn’t kicked in yet, and he tried to dig himself out. “I wouldn’t think May would be caught dead in camouflage, let alone cargo pants. He’s usually in jeans, so it was distracting.” Richard stuck the cigarette back in his mouth and shut up, fuming.

Jeremy laughed at him openly. “So because he’s wearing an unusual set of trousers, you stare at his lap? Alright, what about during the news?”

“I wasn’t!”

“Hammond, the girls behind me noticed, I heard them giggling about it.”

“They probably noticed what I did!” Richard blew out a stream of smoke. “His thighs kept twitching!”

Jeremy laughed even harder. “Oh, come off it!”

“Well, he’s right, they were,” came a voice from behind them, and both men whirled to see James standing there. His expression was mild, and he held his own cigarette. “I’m not sure why, though. I can’t find my lighter, can I use yours?”


	21. Day 21: Cheat *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Missing scene from World of Comfort, April 2012. Slashy.

“So, what you’re saying is, since you found out about us on your birthday last year-”

“It wasn’t on his birthday, it was days after!”

“Shush, Rich - this year you want to see us kiss? What sort of warped birthday wish is that?”

“He’s Jeremy, of course it’s warped!” Richard lifts his head from the kitchen counter and glares at the birthday boy (52 he may be, but Jezza certainly doesn’t act it). “Is this because we didn’t get you anything?“

"Absolutely not,” Jeremy says. “Lunch at Wapping was perfect.”

“Well, if that’s so,” James’ patient tone has an edge to it, “then just say ‘thank you’ and leave it at that.”

Jeremy’s eyes narrow.

Beside James, Richard hisses, “Again, this is Jeremy.” When the two of them look over at their friend and co-presenter, they find he’s sporting his very best 'poor-pitiful-me’ face, complete with lowered brows and a pout. It’s not real and they damn well know it, but then Clarkson goes one further.

“Pleeeeaaase?”

It’s James’ forehead that thunks on the countertop this time. A mumbled argument follows, both voices clearly exasperated.

“Fine.” Richard eventually says. “Best pay attention, because we’re not doing this for you again. Got it?”

Jeremy nods, sitting up straight in his chair at the table, eyes wide.

Richard stares at him for a long moment, suspicious, then James touches his shoulders and he turns to face him. He wonders how they’re supposed to get into the mood to kiss, which must show on his face, as James half-smiles and shrugs. A chunk of hair drifts over one blue eye, which Richard automatically brushes back, and there it is, the spark for a kiss. It’s warm and comfortable as always, and the reason for it no longer matters.

That is, until a minute later, when they both hear a faint click and separate, turning to look over just in time to see Jeremy stuffing his iPhone in his pocket and legging it out the door. His gleeful voice lingers behind.

“Thanks, lads! I’ll have Francie save you some cake!”

James is frozen in disbelief, but Richard runs to the open doorway, watching as Jeremy’s Mercedes pulls out onto the road. “That fucker!” The door is shut forcefully. “Stupid, overgrown ape! James, he took pictures!”

With a deep breath, James shakes himself. “Or video, yeah. I caught that, too.”

Richard stares at James, now, practically vibrating with indignation. “Aren’t you furious?”

“I’m not thrilled, but furious? No.” James moves forward to take one of Richard’s hands, tugging him over to one of the stools by the counter. “You said it twice already - he’s Jeremy.”

“I know I did.” On his new perch, Richard quirks an eyebrow.

James arches one back. “World’s least practical man? He’ll never figure out how to put it on YouTube.”


	22. Day 22: Deserted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follows [Trauma](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12616692/chapters/29059146).

When the news comes that James is being taken to London via Air Ambulance, the shoot is officially canceled. There’s no point in talking about their cars to film, since none of it will be shown; the modifications are stripped down, and the focus becomes getting to Damascus and then home. All of James’s belongings are packed from the Z3, and his bags are checked through to London along with everyone else’s. It’s an overnight flight back, but when Richard scans the rows surrounding his own, he finds he’s far from alone in being unable to sleep, despite his exhaustion. Jeremy, off to his right, is paging through a magazine.

“You too worried as well?”

Clarkson sighs, but when he turns his head, it’s obvious he’s feeling ragged. “Only a bit. Look, we all got banged up out there. I’m sure he has a concussion, but other than that he’ll probably be fine by the time we’re allowed to see him.”

When they land, Andy is given a message that James is in surgery, so they should all go home to clean up, get some sleep, and wait to hear from them in the morning. Richard gives Jeremy the stink eye for his underestimation, and takes himself off to his tiny flat to do as he’s been told.

When morning comes, he’s gotten some sleep, washed all his clothes, and rung Mindy to let her know what’s happened. Andy and Jeremy are already at the hospital when he arrives with a takeaway breakfast and coffee. Both are uncharacteristically quiet as Richard eats.

“So, how is it looking?”

“He’s out of surgery,” Andy says. “It was only a very small fracture, but given the dust and dirt there was concern about infection.”

“Has he woken up?”

“Not yet. We contacted Sarah.” Andy and Jeremy share an uncomfortable glance. “Did you know she’d moved out?”


	23. Day 23: Tipsy *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was definitely tipsy (on delicious pear mead) when I wrote this, so forgive its weirdness. I'm leaving it as is because I think it conveys James's sense of enjoying himself despite feeling like he doesn't entirely fit. And of course he misses Richard. World of Comfort 'verse, after "Boston".

He’s missed Richard badly since the three day visit back in late September. The invitation to a colleague’s home for Thanksgiving dinner was a welcome distraction. There had been such a tasty array of food and drink, with nary a piece of cheese nor strawberry to be found.

James nearly falls asleep in the cab while being driven back to his building. He’s used this driver before, can’t remember the man’s name through the calorie-induced stupor, but knows him well enough to trust he hadn’t taken a longer route for a higher fare while James was dozing off.

Bag of leftovers clutched tight, James makes his way to his flat. The cats get morsels of turkey as a treat, and everything else is shoved into the fridge for when he can stand to think about eating again.

He’d had a bit too much to drink as well, possibly. Definitely, if he’s ringing Richard at 11pm Eastern time. 4 in the morning in the UK, thankfully Rich doesn’t pick up, and he can just leave a message, sounding sleepy and only a little bit unhappy.

Only a little, because on the whole, he is happy with the life he’s settled into. Which he had attested to during dinner, and now he needs to tell Richard.

“It’s me, just got in from my first Turkey day here in the colonies. I’ve a good job, good friends and home here. Miss you. I don’t think I tell you enough, but I love you.”

James is asleep moments after tugging the duvet up to his chin.


	24. Day 24: Fancy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU 2006 where James did not join Top Gear, nor has Richard had his crash.

He’s spent the past few hours writing up car reviews. This is the last one, for the worst of the lot, and Richard is rubbing his eyes and moaning under his breath when Mindy taps on his office door.

“How’s it going?”

“I'm down to the Peugeot. I don't think the editors would be pleased if all I said was “drop it into an active volcano.”

His wife cracks a grin. “Bet Jeremy would love that. Are you staying in, then?”

“No reason not to, why?”

“Karen just rang from the yard. She said it looked like Tobermory got himself cast earlier. He's up, now, but-"

Richard winces. “That pony. She'll need help when the vet comes.”

“Exactly. The girls just started their piano lessons, I've already written out the cheque.”

Richard gets up from his desk and stretches. “Do I need to watch?”

Mindy snags him for a quick hug and kiss. “No, just loiter. I've set Willow up drawing whilst she's waiting her turn, and Izzy will have homework.”

“No problem. I'll get supper started, too.”

Mindy grins again and pats his cheek. “Don’t overdo it, love. I'll ring when I know more.”

He follows her downstairs and settles at the kitchen table with their younger daughter. Willow passes him a sheet of paper and crayon, unaffected by her mother's abrupt departure. The steady plink of piano keys can be heard down the hall, rising and falling as his eldest does her warm-up scales.

“Mummy said Tobermory might be sick,” Willow comments. Richard peeks at her drawing: sure enough, a black and white pony-shaped figure is taking form.

“Maybe. He might have just gotten stuck, and Mummy and Karen and the vet will get him feeling better.”

Willow sighs and gives her pony figure a thick, ground-sweeping tail. “Poor old Tobermory.”  
Richard, who knows the pony in question to be Beelzebub in the guise of a twelve-hand, ten year old piebald pony gelding, refrains from laughing and just nods soberly. “So, do you like your piano tutor? What's her name?”

“Daddy! James is a boy, like you,” Willow giggles at him. “After our lessons, he lets us choose something for him to play out of a book. Sometimes it's fancy, like what Granddad listens to on the radio.”

“Fancy?”

“With the violins and all. The orches?”

Richard grins as his daughter mimes something like a music conductor. “The orchestra. He plays classical music?”

“Yes! On a harp-si-chord.” Willow pronounces the instrument name with pride. She's still talking about different instruments when her sister and James enter the kitchen some twenty minutes later. Introductions are made, and Richard gets a good luck at the man his wife hired to teach their daughters to play piano. 

James May is taller than Richard, with a slight potbelly. He's older, too, if the gray streaks in his russet-coloured hair are any indication. If he is a professional musician, May is making the most of his time off-stage by dressing as casually as possible: the multicoloured stripes on his jumper remind Richard of the test cards from old colour Tv's, and the hem of his wide-legged jeans nearly drag on the floor. Only the toes of his shoes are visible. Altogether, he looks a bit of a shambles. Still, his voice is warm and bright and enthusiastic, and his blue eyes kind. The girls are utterly besotted with him.


	25. Day 25: Aware

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follows "Deserted", from a different point of view.

He hurts. He is blinded, and in shadow. He is stumbling, supported on either side. He is going to be--

He drifts, and is numb to all but the odd flicker of thought. He almost wakes: almost overcomes inertia and sedation. He does not open his eyes.

He is rapt, spellbound and held by molecules binding into chains, and sleeps without dreaming. 

He is...he can hear the beeps from a machine to his right. Can feel the weight of blankets on his stomach and legs. Can taste the sour stickiness left by anaesthetic. There is no one scent to pick out.

He opens his eyes. Slowly, sluggishly. He tries to focus. Blinks, blinks again. He is so confused.

A blonde woman, her eyes round and mouth tight, leans into view. “James?”

‘Yes,’ he thinks. ‘That's me.’ He nods, a slight dip of his chin, and something - catches. 

It hurts, he hurts, and he is frightened, he can't see what is hurting him, or why. He is panicking, and the blond woman is saying “James” over and over, and his vision goes wobbly for a moment, and then he can focus. The woman - her name is Sally? Samantha? - lays a hand on his arm. “You're okay.”

He is not okay, is still scared, but she - Sarah! - looks like she wants him to agree. He blinks at her, works his jaw and tries to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth. “Sarah,” he says, but no sound comes out.

She smiles big, with teeth, and turns to look behind her. Another person is there, a man with brown hair and anxious eyes. Sarah and the man give him some bits of ice and soon he tries to speak again.

“Sarah.”

“That's right, yes.” She points at the man. “Do you know who he is?”

He focuses again. It’s an R name. Or an H name? He gets more ice as he tries to figure it out. “Can't decide?”

“Oh!” The man grins as wide as Sarah had. “Sorry, mate. Try my first name.”

The R name is first. Robert? No, don’t call him Rick, he hates that - “Rich,” he manages. “Richard.”


	26. Day 26: Oslo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I completely forgot to write today, so here’s part of a story I’ve been fiddling with for ages. AU in which James and Richard have been best mates since the 90’s. R is single. Takes place during the real Oslo race.

His hangover the next morning was like a harbinger of doom - a scarily accurate one, as it turned out. Even months later, he couldn’t think about that day without feeling a chill, it had been so utterly miserable. They’d finally made it to Oslo after midnight and checked into the designated hotel, only to find that Jeremy and his crew had left hours before. The trip had finally started to look up the next morning; one of the guys had left a message on his phone to say the crew were heading home, so he’d rung James to ask about his plans.

“Breakfast.” James said. “I’ve had a good night’s sleep, I’m warm and dry, now all I want is breakfast.”

“Righto. Why don’t you come over, we’ll order room service and plan our day?”

James arrived wearing one of his turtleneck jumpers and the dark, flared jeans that turned Richard’s brain to porridge. They chatted over the menu, placed their order, and in the quiet that followed, Richard approached his best friend and gave him a timid hug. The older man hadn’t jumped or moved away, thank god, but put a hand on Richard’s back.

“What’s this for?”

“‘m sorry,” Richard replied. “For all the shit I said and did during the race.” He rested his forehead against James’ shoulder and sighed. “I’ve been letting Jeremy make me look like an arse and an idiot, and it needs to stop.”

James wrapped both arms around him then, the plush fabric of his jumper brushing Richard’s cheek. “I knew we were being set up to get some friction, so I didn’t think you meant what you were saying.” He sighed too, then added, “Still hurt though, so thank you.”

To Richard’s profound relief, that warmth and closeness between them remained long after the hug ended; they had spent a nice, leisurely day in Oslo and flown home the next afternoon.


	27. Day 27: War *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Royal British Air Force AU, aka the Top Gear lads in WWII. Downthepub, this is for you.
> 
> Written at 2am because I have a Solitaire problem. No research has gone into this whatsoever, which will drive me nuts in the future. Oh well.

It’s taken Richard more time than he’s willing to admit to get this Willys back in working condition, but it appears he’s done it. There are other Jeeps whole and hale and ready to go, of course. He hasn’t neglected his job. This one, though, has been a pet project of sorts. The engine’s been flooded, the passenger door wrecked by munitions, and his fellow Army mechanics were ready to use the rest of it for scrap. It’s been something to do in the odd quiet moments, when he has to be on base but there’s nothing pressing. Most of them have projects like his; ways to keep their hands and minds busy. It’s a damn sight healthier than drink, that’s for sure.

So he’s drained the engine block and replaced the door, changed the oil and topped up the fluids. It should work. God knows what he’ll do if it doesn’t. Or if it does, he’ll have to find a new pro-.

“Hammo!”

Simmy’s voice startles him enough to drop the Willys’ keys into the footwell. “Yeah?”

“They’re here!”

‘They’ is so vague that to an outsider, it could be anyone. Churchill and Eisenhower. The King and Queen. The company’s families, come for a visit while they wait for treaties to be signed. Richard knows precisely what ‘they’ Simmy means: the POWs. He forgets about the keys in the space of a breath, leaping over the side of the Jeep to run with Simmy to the airfield.

Only about a dozen men emerge from the transport plane. He doesn’t know how many of their company were officially listed as POWs; some might still be in the field hospitals, not yet well enough to report back to base. He and Simmy and their mate Colin know one man in particular is well enough to report, having spent the past thirteen weeks discussing what they’ll do if the French don’t send their Captain back. (In private, of course. Never in front of their commanding officers. They’re loyal, but they aren’t stupid.)

Colin claps his hands on Richard’s and Simmy’s shoulders. “There’s our boy!”

And there he is, indeed. James “Captain Slow” May is saluting the officers some twenty yards away. Richard has to shove his hands in his pockets and grit his teeth to keep from shouting. A moment later, Colin does it anyway.

“Welcome back, Slow!”

May turns, and Richard notes the sling supporting his left arm. Then he’s right there with them. “Collie. Sim. Hammo. Good to see you, mates.” He shakes their hands in turn, using his right hand.

“Took your time getting back, mate. Did they have you doing pre-flight checks or something?” Simmy asks.

May laughs easily. “There are always boxes to tick. One can never be too careful.” He nods at his bound arm. “They treated me well. This is from landing in a tree, getting caught in my chute, and then falling out of the tree hours later.”

“Are you healing up alright?” Richard finally manages to speak up. James’s eyes meet his, and it’s like the Spitfire was never shot down, May was never captured, and he hasn’t spent the last thirteen weeks fretting and thinking up ridiculous rescue plans with their mates.

“More or less. The arm’s better, it’s my collarbone they’re not sure about. So no flying for me, I’m afraid.”


	28. Day 28: Flight

A break has finally been taken from their meeting; they have twenty glorious minutes for themselves. Richard comes back from the men’s room to find James still in his seat, studiously folding a paper airplane.

“What’s this for?”

James tilts his head toward the balcony in answer, and when Richard steps toward it, he can see Jeremy and Andy chatting below it.

He turns back to James with a grin. “Spare me some paper?”

A variety of lined (stolen from Andy’s legal pad), scratch and copy paper is slid over, and he takes a seat beside his colleague. They work in tandem, mostly silent aside from grunts of approval or muttered suggestions. Within ten minutes they’ve amassed a squadron of nineteen paper airplanes.

Gently cradling their ultra-lightweight air force, the two slip out onto the balcony, making ‘shh!’ faces at the few people starting to trickle back in. Two comply, the third stands back and starts recording the action on his phone.

Side by side, Richard and James kneel by the railing and wish their little artillery good hunting. James holds up three fingers, counts them down, and they let fly.


	29. Day 29: Snooze *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I’m very sleepy even though it’s early for me. World of Comfort ‘verse.

Every time they go and film one of their overseas specials, Jeremy loves to bang on about James’s appalling snoring. Every now and then, Richard will chime in, just for appearance’s sake. (In Burma, they concede that Andy is even worse.)

It’s lies. Not all of it. Just some: James does snore, but not all the time. If he sleeps upright, ie in a car or on a train, he’ll mouth-breathe and maybe snort a little, but he won’t snore. On the couch with his head on Richard’s lap? No snoring. In a tent by himself? Snoring. In a tent with Jeremy? Snoring. Richard has already thought of half a dozen reasons why he and James should share a tent on the next trip, and #1 is that James doesn’t snore with him.

(They did share a tent back in 2003, when they tested cabriolets, and Richard doesn’t remember James snoring then, either. Jeremy claims that doesn’t count, as the two of them weren’t yet “special friends”.)

In bed with Richard, James likes to be held when falling asleep and to hold while waking up. He’s a perfectly ordinary sleeper: he’ll mumble, fart, rub his face, move around. He dreams, but rarely mentions them unless they were funny.

He’s pleasant to wake up to; warm and gentle, and totally on board with teeth cleaning before kisses. (Their first kiss is an exception, because Richard had brushed his teeth. James did so before they continued.) His eyes are particularly blue in the morning, as though sleep recharges the color rods.


	30. Day 30: War, continued *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No research went into this. Any military terms I know and use are American. If there’s interest in seeing this developed into a proper story I will of course do the legwork, as it were. For now, it’s only what I know off the top of my head. And what I’ve picked up from Captain America.

Richard, Sim, and Colin bring James with them to the dining tent, and get him caught up on the base’s rumor mill and news during their lunch hour. After, he visits the workshop to see what they’ve been working on since the fighting ended. Only about half the planes they started with are still in working order. James goes quiet when he sees them lined up in the hangar, a few with unpatched bullet holes.

“Ours went down very near the coast,” he says. “Bastards hit the tail, then it was sea, sky, sea. Only at night, it all looked the same. Purdy said he was going to be sick and couldn’t bring her steady enough to land, so we bailed.” He pauses. “I don’t suppose…?”

Simmy shakes his head. “KIA. I’m sorry, May.”

James nods. He runs a hand through his hair - much longer than allowed, now - and frowns. “I should report to medical. Richard, would you mind giving me a lift?”

Richard bounces on his toes and leads May back to the garage and the Jeep he’d been working on earlier. He lists the repairs it had needed and grins when the working engine prompts a pleased ‘wahey’ from his mate. The fingers of James’s free hand tap against his own knee, then different parts of the dash before settling lightly atop Richard’s on the gear lever. They exchange a somber look. Richard twists his hand to clasp May’s, gripping tight. This is as safe and as bold as they can be, on base: in a moving Willys with the top up, it’s too shadowy to see their hands.

“I still want…with you,” James tells him. “I know it’s going to be a wait. I might need surgery, and then demobbing. Will you?”

“Will I wait for you?” Richard hears a note of incredulity in his tone. “James. My dear Captain Slow. I waited thirteen weeks to see you return from France.” He sneaks his warmest smile at his beloved Captain. “I’ll wait thirteen months if needed. Thirteen years would be a trial, but for you…”


End file.
